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The 
Road to Everywhere 

By 

Glenn Ward Dresbach 




Boston 

The Gorham Press 
1916 



Copyright, 1916, by Glenn Ward Dresbach 
All Rights Reserved 



.0^ 






The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 

APR 28 1916 
©CI.A428750 



TO YOU 



PREFATORY NOTE 

Many of these poems have appeared in Scribne/s, 
Poetry, Smart Set, Munsey's, Ainslee's, The Pacific 
Monthly, The New York Times, The Star and 
Herald of Panama and LaFollett's Weekly, and I 
thank them for permission to republish. 

Glenn Ward Dresbach. 

Tyrone, New Mexico. 
February 15, 19 16. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A Vagabond at the Gates 1 1 

Songs for a Violin . 12 

Moon Magic 14 

A Road Song 16 

Song 17 

Wisdom 18 

The Songs of Pan 19 

Inspiration 20 

The Crucible 21 

A Vagabond's Song on the Road ... 22 

Fear 23 

Ode on the Completion of the Panama 

Canal 24 

The Builder 28 

Songs of the Sirens 29 

Song 31 

The Weaker Arm 32 

Fireflies 41 

In the Gift-God's Praise 42 

Reality 46 

The Gray Haired Madonna .... 47 

The Dreamer's House 51 

Neptune's Song of His Horses .... 53 



PAGE 

Panamanian Nights 54 

To THE Statuette of a Boy 56 

Song 58 

Roumanian Girl 59 

Hunting Song 62 

Song 64 

The Palace of Dreams 65 

Song 67 

Gipsy Song 68 

Song 69 

Nemesis 70 

Smiles . 71 

Chanty of the West Wind .... 72 

The Road Between the Willows ... 73 

What of the Morning? 74 



Life is the Road to Everywhere. Aivhile 

We have to roam its miles of gloom and gleam. 

In dreams it starts, and at the utmost mile 
It ends luithin a Dream. 

Awhile ive have to roam its miles, to find 
What vje may find, to hope, to dream, to trust. 

To strive, to love — and then to leave behind 
Dust in the immortal Dust. 

Though I have lost love still I sing of love. 

Though I have failed in battles still there sings 

The fighting spirit in me, and above 
Myself my Soul has wings. 

Though I have seen men suffer for their dreams, 
Still of the Dreams I sing, and suffer, too. 

I know that past our vision there are gleams 
That leap from depths of blue. 

Though I have heard the song echo away. 
Still of the Song I sing and feel its thrill. 

I know that past the portals of To-day 
The Song shall have its will. 

So if I give you smiles instead of tears 

And give you bloom instead of weathered clod, 

Know I have looked beyond the haze of years, 
And seen the Glory of God. 

So I may please God with the songs I give 
If they are true to heart and earth and sky, 

If they help one be happy but to live 
And unafraid to die. 



/ 



THE ROAD TO EVERYWHERE 



A VAGABOND AT THE GATES 

What is this strife and worry all about, 

This building up and tearing down of things? 
I know a wood where birds flit in and out, 
And the west wind sings. 

What of the sobs and hate-words that I hear, 
This shouting and mad barter in the street? 
I know a calm hill where the stars seem near 
And the airs are sweet. 

What of the power that passes in a breath, 

This digging for the buried gates of Doom ? 
I know a vale where echoes laugh at Death, 
And the wild flowers bloom. 

What of this learning, all this wonderous lore, 

This making kites for winds to break the spring? 
I know the fields where men have learned before 
How the heart can sing. 

Yet if I had not lived this strife and pain, 

Nor shed hot tears, nor learned of hate at last, 
I could not love so well the quiet plain 
And the skies so vast. 

Had I not learned how power soon grows old. 

Nor gathered from the lore of every land, 
I could not scorn the things of dross and gold 
For a grain of sand. 

II 



SONGS FOR A VIOLIN 



Blown gold was the hair of the child 

In the wind and the sun by the sea, 
And the sea was silver and jade 
And pearl where the breakers played 
Like children strange and wild 
In a pagan ecstasy. 
And the child cried out to his mother, 
*' O let me play in the sea! " 
But I heard the voice of the mother 
Weary with waiting long, 
" Hush, my child, come near to me. 
The sea is cruel and strong! " 



II 

It seems sometimes that I have been 

Upon an island far at sea, 
Shipwrecked, alone, and I have seen 

White sails beyond the call of me, 
Have seen them pass — to what fair skies 
Beyond the hunger of my eyes? 



12 



Ill 

The dead may know ! How can we say ? 

So, when the tomb Is over me, 

You who in life could never give 

The things that with the dead may live, 

Come all alone, and silently 

Give unto me at close of day 

A red rose for your lips I pressed 

So oft in dreams, and bending low 

Give me a lily for your breast — 

The dead may know ! 



13 



MOON MAGIC 

The Moon drops back her purple robe 
Of clouds that trail the shadow sea, 
And glides in silk of silver mist 
Down star-lit lanes of amethyst ; 

And lo, she smiles so magically 
That shapes of Day scorned to the sight 
Become the glories of the Night. 

This shattered tree I saw by day, 

Weak after battles with the blast, 
Stands robed in garb of victory, 
With gaunt arms lifting bare and free. 

As some wild warrior of the past. 
Crowned as no king is crowned it stands 
The sentinel of the shadow-lands. 

On this old house I saw by day. 
With moss-grown roof and rotting eaves. 

The benediction of the Moon 

Has fallen, and I hear the croon 

Of nun-like winds and lisp of leaves. 

And somewhere in the rooms above 

I hear the restful voice of Love. 



14 



This old hill road I saw by day 

Wind long and gray, and silently, 
Now leads to bloom-sweet vales of Night, 
And fairy-folk with lanterns bright 

Go dancing on the way with me. 
Yet once I cursed on this same road 
The weary miles, the crushing load. 

O Moon, smile magic on my heart 

Some silver night within the years, 
As on the tree that lost its leaves. 
As on the house with rotting eaves, 
As on the road I trod with tears — 
And somewhere in the rooms above 
O leave the restful voice of Love ! 



15 



A ROAD SONG 

" Where are you going? " he said. 

" Where are you going? " said I. 
Then he cried : " Where the dawn throws red 

And silver over the sky ; 
Somewhere the boughs are swinging, 
Somewhere a thrush is singing, 
Somewhere the winds are winging 

O'er places wide and high." 

And I shouted, "So am I!" 

" Of what are you dreaming ? " he said. 

" Of what are you dreaming? " said I. 
He replied : "Of camp-fires red 

And a roof of starry sky ; 
Of waking to find that the singing 
In boughs above me swinging 
Is not a dream ; of springing 

To catch winds laughing by." 

And I shouted, " So am I ! " 

" What are you leaving? " he said. 

" What are you leaving? " said I. 
And he told me : " The things that are dead 

When we get out to the sky ; 
The false gods and their grinning, 
The threads Fate twisted spinning, 
And all but the beginning 

In places wide and high." 

And I shouted, " So am I ! " 
i6 



SONG 

The roses are dead in the garden, 
And the wind comes and goes 

Bearing them into the silence — 
For each of my dreams a rose. 

The door to the house is bolted 

And on the hearth no fire ! 
And my heart keeps burning, burning 

With the live coals of Desire. 

Yet here when the roses were blooming 
I turned from their thorns in pain. 

And here when the door was open 
I dreamed of a palace in Spain. 



17 



WISDOM 

So light of foot was she when in the gloom 
She came to save the low flame of his soul 
Blurred with the soot of days beyond control 
He did not hear her in the breathless room. 
She came as softly as the Spring's perfume 
On velvet winds that kiss a foam-pearled shoal 
Whereon with undersong sweet waters roll — 
He felt her presence break the doors of Doom! 

And he had dreamed that she would come as one 
Decked in the gems that all the ages know, — 
Queen Wisdom of the world, proud in her name, 
Her dark hair bright with diamonds in the sun; 
And yet, to him in gloom when stars were low, 
Soft as the night-wind lulled to sleep she came. 



i8 



THE SONGS OF PAN 

Why will you say that Pan is dead, 

With his reed pipes scattered and torn ? 

I heard him play, where the willows sway 

By a stream of song that lilts away, 
A melody made in the morn; 

And he played of love and the sweets of a smile, 

And of dreams come true in the Afterwhile, 
Of the rose that hides the thorn. 

Why will you say that Pan is dead. 

With his reed pipes lost in the years? 
I heard him weep with the winds that keep 
Toll of the hearts on the land and the deep. 
And he played with the drop of his tears 
A melody made of the cries of the street. 
Of the heavy throb of the passing feet. 
Of the dead dreams and of fears. 

Why will you say that Pan is dead. 

With his reed pipes blown apart? 
Even today you must hear him play, 
Nor gold nor hell can drive him away 

From the fields of the sun and the mart. 
Listen awhile! Ah, is he dead? 
Each day he has come as the years have fled, 

And piped the songs in your heart. 



19 



INSPIRATION 



/ 



I show men things they do not sec 

So oft they pass them by; 
And some have found new things to love, 

New splendors in the sky. 

I pull the veil from Mystery 

And show her cynic's smile; 
Men look a foolish look, and feel 

They knew her all the while. 

I give a youth the power to tell 

Old lore that is like new; 
The wise men wag their heads and frown, 

And know the words are true. 

A beggar played his violin 

Where wind-folk sob and sing; 

I whispered to his heart, and now 
He plays before the king. 

The crowd saw but the parts of steel 

Piled high before their eyes; 
Long to the builder's heart I came — 

He saw his tower rise. 

I am a guest that comes and goes 
Not lured by throne or mart; 

I give to Man the love of Life — 
Or else I break his heart. 
20 



THE CRUCIBLE 

Life is the crucible wherein we test 

The metal of our dreams. 

Dross melts, at best, 

Until it seems 

Changing, before our eyes, 

Into the dust of lies. 

But melt your bit of gold — 

Still it will hold 

A brightness and a worth 

Among the things of earth. 



21 



A VAGABOND'S SONG ON THE ROAD 

My heart has wandered in far lands, 

Too free for lagging feet, 
Through highlands wild, o'er silver sands. 

By valleys cool and sweet. 
And it has found rare blooms of dreams 

And precious gems of cheer 
l/^ That I am sure it could not find 

Had it not left me far behind 

To tread this gray road here. 

Our hearts are brothers of the road, 

Each with its place to find. 
Each with its gladness — and its load, 
\^ And things it left behind. 

And as I wander in the dawn 

Or when the night is near, 
I know the vagabonds of Dreams 
Will go with me to hills and streams 

For many a changing year. 

And it has pleased me as I roam 

To know a cripple's heart 
May wander from its broken home 

And roam with God apart. 
And it has shamed my wandering ways, 
J With night-skies for my tent. 

To know one crippled or one blind 
May dwell within, ere I may find. 

The place that is Content. 
22 



FEAR 

Where Silence holds the world beneath its wings, 

Where Life's artillery thunders in the mart, 

With subtle force I shape within the heart 

The good and evil destinies of things. 

But I am one whose praises no one sings, 

A Power that men scorn and hold apart ; 

Yet many understand, too well, the Art 

Of Valor that my name, but mentioned, brings. 

Oft I have made a coward heart grow brave 

Because I made it ponder o'er its plight /\ 

Until the world seemed but a place of eyes. 

And it has been my lot true hearts to save. 

To give them glimpses deep into the Night, 

To show them writings on the mist-hung skies. 



23 



ODE ON THE COMPLETION OF THE 
PANAMA CANAL 



Another wonder of the world is made! 

The great work is done. 

Under the white glare of the tropic sun 

What seemed a dream for many a brave decade 

Has been completed, and the East and West 

At last are one. 

Here is a product of Man's great unrest, 

Striving to meet his ever-growing need. 

Fools, blind to that white flame within Man's breast, 

Will ever seek to smirch each mighty deed 

With empty blame of Greed. 

But something finer, nobler, grander goes 

Into Man's handiwork, half understood — 

The stuff of dreams lives on through mortal woes 

Working its glory for the common good! 



We know how the work was done, 
How men suffered and strained — and won ! 
How can we fail to see 
This modern nobility? 



24 



Ill 



Let no names be said, 

Lest one of the dead 

Who nameless dug his part of every hill 

Be now forgotten, when his hands are still. 



IV 

Another wonder of the world is made! 

Each great machine, each mighty little spade, 

Each one with wonder in itself is still. 

Things all inanimate, they seemed to live 

Under Man's will, 

Doing the work his frail hands could not do, 

For all his great mind knew. 

And if, as some say, men, too, were machines 

Driven by greater minds through rain and sun. 

Behold the just reward of honest means! 

How well the work was done! 



25 



V 



The task is done! Men turn, and go 

From whence they came in answer to the call. 

The great Dream that they saw about them grow 

Into the Real, complete makes nobler all. 

Each in his heart bears back some dream his own, 

With greater hope and greater faith in toil — 

Whether he builds his dream in steel or stone 

Or makes it grow him fruit from out the soil. 

Heroes from a mighty battlefield 

They quietly return along the ways. 

While such men are a part of the Nation's yield 

How empty seem fears of declining days! 

How empty stand before this brotherhood 

All things not great and good! 

VI 

And yet this work has been a part 
Of every day, with no vain glory spread 
Over the toiler's head. 

No gaudy tinsel here, no shouting in the mart, 
No cheap, unstable lure. 
But silent effort, great and strong and sure! 
No emptiness of place, no pride that spoiled! 
For wages — and for something else, men toiled. 
No pretty word or mighty sounding phrase 
Is worthy of the beauty 

Some men can work from out the common days, 
Doing their common duty. 
26 



VII 

All human blunder and all personal sin 

That Is a part of every man must be 

Forgotten in his work's immensity. 

Achievement must begin 

Within us as w^e are. 

Man's heart, though w^eak, reflects his guiding star. 



VIII 

The mighty oceans join after long years, 

Over the ground that knows the salt of tears 

A bloody and unstable ground that Man 

Has glorified and freed from many a ban. 

The Panama of pest-hole, harlot, lout 

Is now no more. She stands, 

With young, unfettered hands. 

Greeting the world she lived so long without. 



IX 

Another wonder of the world is made! 
Nothing can spoil 

The Spirit that has made it, nothing fade 
This epic page of Toil. 



27 



THE BUILDER 

How great will be the thing that he builds? 

Not quite so great as his dreams are great; 
Not quite so high as his hopes are high; 

And long he must build and wait. 
But the glory is, if he builds what he can, 
That all the while he is building a Man! 

And what will he build as the years go by, 
With stone or steel or the might of a theme? 

No mansion, we know, can he ever build 
Out of a cottage dream. 

But the glory is, if he builds at all. 

That his soul can look o'er the highest wall! 



28 



SONGS OF THE SIRENS 

Gone are the sirens from the sea 
Where the wild white horses fret in the spray; 
But their songs live on in the dark and the 
dawn, 
And they have haunted you many a day, 
And they have called you away and away 
On the streets and the plains against your will, 
Never still, oh, never still. 

Gone are the sirens from the shore 
Where the sea weed gleams like a maiden's hair; 
But a siren-song lives sweet and strong 
In the laugh of a woman so fair, so fair 
That you cannot dream of pain and care; 
And if you knew your heart must break. 
Break it must for her sweet sake. 

Gone are the sirens from the isles 
Where the scarlet wings of the Morn unfold ; 
But a siren-song lives harsh and strong 
In the maddening clash of gold on gold. 
And the song has led to woes untold ; 
Yet with your w^eary heart still sore 
Gold you lose, and fight for more. 



39 



Gone are the sirens from the sea 
Where the gray mists drift and the chill rains beat; 
But a siren-song lives wild and strong 
In the winds that call to you in the street 
Of winding paths where the flowers are sweet, 
Of paths you followed when youth was gay — 
Where, oh where, do they lead today? 



30 



SONG 

The more I know of the ocean 
The more I love to hear 

A little hill-stream singing 
All tenderly, and near. 

But the more I know of the ocean 

The more it calls to me, 
Filling my soul with longing 
Akin to misery. 



31 



THE WEAKER ARM 



As silent as a dream he came, 

Day after day when work was done, 

To that same bridge at set of sun 

When tower windows gleamed as flame. 

And there the river glided past 

The silent ships and walls of gray; 

And as he watched it seemed at last 

That it must bear his heart away 

And cool its fever in the bay. 

And once I saw him in the rain — 

I close my eyes and see him yet 

Stand silently in dumb disdain 

Upon the bridge all wan and wet. 

But after this he came no more 

To river bridge or factory door; 

And one who knew him led the way 

Down dingy streets with walls of gray 

To his poor room; and there I came 

When tower windows gleamed as flame. 



32 



II 

" You cannot give me aid," he said, 
** Nor rest in life nor peace in death. 
Forever I shall see the dead — 
A torn child writhe with sobbing breath, 
A strong man die, limb rent from limb. 
With bleeding horses stamping him. 
And by the child the mother stands, 
The blood she nourished on her hands; 
And still I hear her soul's wild cry. 
And though I would, I dare not die! " 



III 

Nor did I dare to let him die. 

Nor can I tell the reason why — 

But day by day I gave him care 

And brought the priest to say his prayer. 

And weary hours dragged by the while 

He greeted me and tried to smile. 

And once he called me as I came. 

And sitting trembling on his bed 

He told me all, while sunset's red 

On tower windows gleamed as flame. 



33 



IV 

" I was a student in a land 

Where men are slaves, nor understand 

The law of laws that crush them down 

And rob their lives of all but God, 

That they may bow to rod and crown 

As brothers of the tares and clod. 

I heard the sorrows of the field. 

The rate of tax, the scanty yield ; 

And all the while the breath of years 

Was heavy with the salt of tears. 

I saw the governor in the town 

With pomp and pride go up and down 

The streets where hungry children fled 

The horses' feet he would not check 

To save a fallen infant's neck — 

The mother watched, and bowed her head! 



" There came a time when men grew brave. 
Poor struggling spirits of the Right 
Came to their secret halls by night 
With dreams that ended in the grave. 
Now even secret halls have ears 
That guard the castles in the town; 
And even as men quelled their fears 
The soldiers came and shot them down." 



34 



VI 



" It was a dark and rainy morn. 

I knew that he was with them there — 

My father, O my father, torn 

By shot, was dead upon the street. 

The rain had smoothed his long gray hair, 

And still in death his smile was sweet. 

And he was all that was my own. 

For since my birth my mother slept. 

And left us two. And now alone 

I fell upon the street and wept. 

And not a word the mourners said. 

They came and bore away their dead. 

I took him home all still and cold. 

And on his bed I laid him down 

And swore on heart and cross of gold 

To kill the governor in the town." 



35 



VII 

'* There came a day when skies were fair — 
A festal time of rest and Grace, 
And crowds were in the market place, 
And priests passed by with chanted prayer. 
I passed along the crowd alone; 
I saw the faces wan and pale; 
I heard one speak in fearful tone ; 
I heard the little children wail. 
It was a day when skies were fair — 
With people longing for their dead! 
Their hearts were numb with toil for bread 
As priests passed by with chanted prayer. 
And as they passed my spirit stirred 
But could not hear a praying word. 
1 dreamed it was a rainy morn — 
I could not keep from dreams, it seems. 
And through the maze that draped my dreams 
I saw my father still and cold. 
His sweet smile dealing despots scorn. 
I touched my little cross of gold. 
And then I heard dream-voices say, 
' This is the day ! ' 



36 



VIII 

" In pomp and pride the governor came. 
I saw the crowd in homage bowed, 
And all my being burned as flame. 
I held a thing more cruel than State 
To hurl the despot down to hell. 
I stood and smiled, for I could wait, 
And stern dream-voices said, ' 'Tis well.' 
And as I waited in the line 
Of people with their hearts forlorn 
I held the hand of Power in mine, 
And dreamed it was a rainy morn. 
And as I dreamed the governor came 
Before me and I smiled the same 
Sweet smile of scorn, and then I hurled 
The bomb that seemed to shake the world. 



37 



IX 

" I cannot tell what happened then ; 

The crash had dulled the cries of men ; 

But cleared the scene, and showed to me 

The sight I dared to stay and see. 

The governor lay with sobbing breath, 

With body torn and mangled limb ; 

And bleeding horses stamping him, 

Wild-eyed as he now writhed in death. 

I did not fear to see him so 

With ruling hand to tatters torn; 

For as I stood with brain aglow, 

I dreamed it was a rainy morn! 

But as I stood I heard a cry — 

I saw a woman fall near by 

And lift a little, mangled child, 

A little, bleeding, dying child. 

I heard her soul's cry wild, so wild, 

That all my senses came to me — 

I fled the sight I dared not see." 



38 



" I fled by day, I fled by night 

The dead that would not quit my sight, 

Across the land and o'er the sea. 

And still they followed on with me. 

Now, often wheri the waters lie 

So deep and dark by walls of gray. 

It seems if I but dared to die 

That they would bear my soul away. 

And cool its fever in the bay. 

With all the days my heart has bled, 

And now I know, the madness past. 

Another comes when one is dead 

And rules as heartless as the last. 

The ruling arm that dealt its dole 

Is not the arm that wrecked my soul ; 

And often with my spirit worn 

I dream it is a rainy morn. 

But O, that I should bring to harm 

That which I dreamed to save and bless, 

That which was soft for love's caress. 

The weaker arm, the weaker arm! 

O, what a fool I was to trust 

At one mad stroke to stop the tears 

That well from out the bitter years, 

For someone's greed, for someone's lust." 



39 



XI 

He ceased to speak when shadows came 

And dulled the tower window's flame; 

And as he sat with drooping head, 

Long in the silence on his bed, 

I could not speak, but went to him 

And held his hand. His eyes were dim 

With tears as he looked up nor said 

A word that made me understand; 

And yet I knew — and held his hand. 

And as I thought, strange dreams were born. 

I dreamed it was a rainy morn ! 

But ere I left him on his bed 

The moon came out and radiance shed 

About the silent breathless place 

And lingered on his thin, wan face. 



40 



FIREFLIES 

The fireflies are cynics small 
That tiny lanterns carry 

To see if they can find at all 
An honest fairy. 



41 



IN THE GIFT-GOD'S PRAISE 

From the fields where the flocks of the Shepherds 

fed, 
From the shores where the Fishermen's nets were 

spread, 
From the frown of the Cross where the Master bled, 
Have the shamed and the lost in the darkness cried : 
" In our power we scorned thee, O Lord," and died. 
And the tears and the blood on the shattered shrines, 
And the lies and the lust of the golden days 
Are as fresh and as sad as the prophet's lines 
As we turn to the Lord in praise. 

As in times of old 
Lift the heights of the morn where the dawn-wind 

sings 
Ere the wares in the mart of the day are sold 

And the day lies cold 
In the glint of the gold on the west wind's wings. 

There are men with their bitter sermons to preach 

While their hearts are bitter and ill; 

There are men with a song in the depths of the soul, 

And the song will not be still. 

There are fields of the grain and fields of the tares 

By the world-wide ways we tread 

In the times that we live, and we take and we give, 

And we profit by years that are dead. 



42 



But where are the gods that we knew of old, 
The clean-limbed gods with their sun-kissed hair? 
We look in the book where their tales are told — 

They are only there. 
But still it seems in the beat of rain, 
The warm, sweet rain from the sky-fount's mouth, 

That we hear again 
The gods' soft feet and the songs in the south. 

But we live in the real 

And dream the Ideal, 
And the gods that are dead have left us One, 
The Gift-God, the one God. His will be done! 

Now the reapers have reaped where the seeds were 

sown, 
And the Gift-God's eyes have smiled on his own. 
From the frown of the Cross came a pilgrim throng 
To the gates of the West, and they shouted a song. 
And the new and the strong land has given them 

fruit. 
And their hearts are of men and are less of the 

brute. 
Now we know that the proud in the darkness cried ; 
We have read that they called to the Lord, and died. 
And we strike at the 111 till the whole world hears, 
And the eyes are turned to the flag that swings 
All its folds by the gloss of the Eagle's wings. 
But the while all the ills of the yearning years 
Are at strife in the heart and at play with tears; 



43 



And starvelings cry in the market place, 

And the weary and fallen have doubted Grace; 

And a thousand wrongs and a million fears 

We have left in their hells as we scanned the Years. 

'' We are the Power," have said the hosts 
Down the dim ages that reek with tears; 
And they pass to the silence, poor gaping ghosts! 
What have we learned from the work of years? 
What have we learned? Too little to praise; 
Though we deem we have learned the world-worn 

ways. 
We have followed the sun and have marked the 

earth ; 
We have aided the powers of death and of birth; 
We have sailed at last as the fleet birds sail; 
We have wrapped the flag on the frozen pole — 
And what can it all to the Land avail 
If the flame of its pride must bum its soul? 



From the hills of the morn where the dawn-wind 

sings, 
From the glint of the gold on the west wind's 

wings, 
Have we sowed, have we reaped as we have sowed, 
And we turn at last down the sunset road; 
And we lift our songs at the task of days 
To the heights of the stars in the Gift-God's praise. 
And out of the star-lands low on the sea 
Answers the Voice as the night wind mourns, 
" Love is the gift that I give to thee; 
Love is the balm that healed in Me 
The wounds of the spear and thorns! " 



45 



REALITY 

I sang of Love before you came to me; 
Now I am living love and sing no more 
The early songs like pink shells on the shore, 
Caught by great waves and hurled into the sea. 
No more my heart has room for minstrelsy 
Like moonbeams swooning on your chamber floor, 
Like shadows of frail flowers at Life's door, 
All lacking, somehow, this Reality. 

O when I sing of Love again each word 
Must hold wine of your kisses and your tears; 
Must hold warmth of your body, and perfume 
From silken hair that in your dreams was stirred — 
And still keep thrilling secrets of the years, 
Hiding away each precious bit of bloom! 



46 



THE GRAY HAIRED MADONNA 



Sunset over the lands 

That stretch out to the splendor like a beggar's 

hands 
Reaching for alms! 
The wind calms, 
And everywhere 
There is the hush of prayer. 



n 

The trees are temples of the Lord; 

Psalms tremble from their leaves. 

The stones are altars, and the sward 

Such glory receives 

That every blade of grass that grows, 

And every flower. 

Takes on an aspect of repose 

And holy power. 

A gray haired woman stands 

Looking across the sunset lands. 

About her is a wonderful repose. 

The sunset o'er her gray head faintly shows 

A halo of pure gold. 

O it is beautiful thus to grow old! 



47 



Ill 

Who is this woman with the soft gray hair? 

Her face is turned away 

As if she sees some sight divinely fair 

Beyond the dying day. 

She stands beside her gate, 

Who soon must go 

Into the sunset as the hour grows late 

And the last splendor flickers faint and low. 



IV 



She turns her face ! 
Ah, Holy One, 
Mother of Grace, 
Who gave us your Son! 

And in her eyes 

The Glory 

Not seen in any skies. . . 

A Mother's Story! 



48 



Oh, had I power to tell you of that face 

With eyes so tender and so knowing, 

Showing the mortal mother's gift of Grace, 

And showing 

The sweet divinity that shaped the Heart 

That once of her was part, 

Before her Son had walked in Galilee 

Or stilled the stormy sea. 



VI 

Her beauty grew with years, 

Calmed and yet glorified with tears 

She shed when mortals said her Son had died. 

Oh, could I show her as I see her now — 

That blameless brow. . . . 

Now she is satisfied ! 



VII 

The gray haired Madonna is waiting to meet her 

Son 
After her toil is done. 
Knowing His gift to earth, 
Her glory in His birth; 
Knowing His pain 
Has been a poor world's gain. • 



49 



O gray haired Madonna with the old mother-eyes 
Watching the sunset skies! 



VIII 



The day is done. 

The gray haired Madonna folds her hands, 
And whispers across the sunset lands, 
"My Son! My Son!" 



50 



THE DREAMER'S HOUSE 

I saw the Dreamer's house that stands 

Upon its narrow ground, 
Where now are planted seeds that soon 
Will glory bear to sun and moon, 

And wall the little house around 
With flowers for the Dreamer's hands. 

With subtle fragrance and sweet sound. 

About are planted mites of trees 
That by the house will meet 

When they have grown for many a year. 

Then one at night in them may hear 
The summer rain with dancing feet. 

And even now the Dreamer sees 

In them the birds whose songs are sweet. 

The Dreamer looks upon the place. 

*' It is not finished yet," 
He says, with eyes that see the heart 
Of each small thing that plays a part 

Within his dream. He can forget 
No seed he sows. But one efface — 

His dream may lose a violet! 



51 



Upon the house the Dreamer stares. 

" It is not yet complete," 
He says, with eyes that see the eaves 
Stroked by the soothing, swaying leaves 

Grown from the twig now at his feet. 
" The years will bring it unawares 

The things that make its presence sweet." 

O Dreamer's heart, O dwelling place 

That is not finished yet, 
From out the earth and from the air 
The years will bring you unaware 

Completeness. May they not forget 
To cover scars, none can efface. 

With skillful rose and violet. 



52 



NEPTUNE'S SONG OF HIS HORSES 

They have breasted the storms of the west, 
With their long white manes like spray; 

They have travelled by sun and star 

To wonderful bays afar 

Where the wild sea-children play, 

Where safe is the sea-bird's nest 
In the high cliffs gaunt and gray. 

They have pranced and rolled on the shores 

Of Greece and of old Cathay; 
They have leaped and strained my hands 
Where the Statue of Liberty stands; 

They have taken the bit, dashed away 
Through hells where the north wind roars. 

With their white manes cold in spray! 

My horses are wild. They have hurled 
Strong men from their path to die; 

They have trampled the weak and the small 

And the beautiful, trampled them all. 
Nor heeded a pleading cry. 

And they fret at the walls of the World 
And the little ends of the sky. 



53 



PANAMANIAN NIGHTS 



RAINY SEASON 

The Recording Angel of Hours 
Has spilled his ink on the sky, 

And how can he write 

In his book tonight? — 

O Night, with the winds that die, 

O Night, with the drooping flowers 
And palms too tired to sigh. 

The Recording Angel of Hours 
Will open the Gates of Rain, 

And wash the sky 

Till night goes by, 

And the quick dawn comes again — 

A dawn with the breath of flowers 
From out a Dream's Domain. 



54 



n 

' DRY SEASON 

Crowded stars and wide-eyed moon 
O'er the hills of Panama! 
Night of Love, go not too soon 
From the dreaming eyes that saw 
How you came with winds and stars. 
Now you wake the soft guitars 
Somewhere down the lazy street. 
Let the light and laughter be, 
While the little, lilting feet 
Dance a pagan melody 
That is wild and sweet. 



55 



TO THE STATUETTE OF A BOY 

{With a Thorn in His Foot) 

What brambles did you run through 

Scattering the bramble-dew, 
In what enchanted meadows where the wild rose 

blooms ? 
Seeking what ? What finding 
Where the paths go winding, 
In and out, and round about, all haunted with 

perfumes ? 

What fleet streams have you sped by 

Chasing bee and butterfly. 
In what enchanted meadows where the sky lark 

sings ? 
Pagan heart of laughter. 
Leaping, running after 

Something of your fancy in a world of winds and 
wings ! 

What wild rose left its sharp thorn 

In your foot this golden morn. 
In what enchanted meadows where the grasses wave, 
That you are sitting here so, 
With your sunny head low, 

Picking out the cruel thorn, all patient now and 
brave ? 



56 



Now I have felt your quick pain! 

O to see you run again 
Along the sunny meadows where the skylark sings! 
Pagan heart of laughter, 
Leaping, running after 

Something of your fancy in a world of winds and 
wings 1 



57 



SONG 

I would that I could lead you 
Through magic, blooming dells, 

But here, Love, most I need you. 
Where Life my lot compels, 

Far from the inner temple 
And chimes of temple bells. 

O here, Love, most I need you. 
And so it still must be. 

And while I long to lead you, 
To your heart you lead me — 

A place of fountains flowing, 
A temple by the sea. 



58 



ROUMANIAN GIRL 

There is a gliding, shallow meadow stream 

In Roumania somewhere, somewhere 
The swaying boughs upon a low shore dream 

While flakes of sunlight fleck the air. 
And through the stream, with lovely white legs 

showing 
Beneath her lifted gown of colors, wends 
A peasant girl, bearing across her shoulder, 
A rod with water- jars hung at the ends. 
1 have the picture here, and now I feel 
Rather than see it all. The waters steal 
By in the sunlight, and the girl's dark eyes 
Hold me. She smiles. . . . My unseen Self re- 
plies : 

**' You live for me, ever as fair as now. 

Though I may never greet you at the shore, 
Nor touch the dark hair on your sun-kissed brow, 

You shall not pass and leave me evermore. 
O never shall I touch those lips that smile, 

Yet never shall the smile fade in my sight. 
O never shall my head find rest awhile 

Upon your breast some still, moon-charmed night. 
Forever, from mid-stream, you smile at me. 
Virgin of Dreams, from all Life's change made 
free. 



59 



" I closed my eyes before you once and dreamed. 

I saw you pass out of the stream and go 
Along a narrow path where no blooms gleamed, 

With graceful movements lyrical and slow. 
I saw you pass within the narrow door 

Of the squat cottage that your girlhood knew: 
I saw you toil till sunlight glowed no more; 
I saw you stand bare-headed in the dew 
And greet your lover in the hush of things 
(Why did my heart ache?) under Night's wide 
wings. 

" I saw you wed, I saw you go, with him 

You loved, to dwell upon the sober plain. 
I saw you suffer when the stars were dim 

To bear a man-child out of noble pain. 
I saw you toil always, but never more 

I saw you cross, as here, the sunny stream. 
Always you loved and suffered while you bore 

Burdens of Want. . . . (O God, take back the 
dream ! 
I want her as I see with open eyes, 
A smiling girl beneath the summer skies.) 



60 



" You live for me within a pictured dream. 

O I shall close my eyes and dream no more! 
Forever I shall see cool waters gleam, 

And you shall smile, and I shall but adore. 
The World's pain shall not reach you; you shall 
know 

Only the light and gladness that I see 
Upon 3^our face. For you no tares shall grow ; 

No one shall rob your Youth of Liberty. 
And my heart shall be warmer while I live 
For Beauty — all that God allows you give ! " 



6i 



HUNTING SONG 

My Heart, we will ride In the paths of the wind, 

Through crimson and silver fire 
O'er the breast of the plain to the heart of the hills, 
Through the sun or the rain with the olden thrills. 

We will follow the Hounds of Desire. 
Heigh-ho ! We will follow the Hounds 
Through bracken or barren grounds, 
In the paths of the wind we will follow 
Where the urge of Life abounds. 
By hill and musky hollow 
O we will follow the Hounds. 

My Heart, we will ride in the paths of the wind, 

O'er dust and leaf and briar. 
Past the streams that flow with their songs to the 

sea, 
Past the things that know what it means to be free. 

We will follow the Hounds of Desire. 
Heigh-ho! We will follow the Hounds 
While the horn its challenge sounds. 
And the paths of the wind before us 
But a far horizon bounds. 
Shouting a hunting chorus, 
O we will follow the Houndi. 



62 



My Heart, we will ride in the paths of the wind, 

Where lonely things aspire. 
But what shall we gain in the chase that is long? 
Shall the ache and the strain take thrills from the 
song 

While we follow the Hounds of Desire ? 
Heigh-ho ! We will follow the Hounds, 
Though we bleed on the rugged grounds. 
In the paths of the wind will awaken 
The strength that from Hope redounds. 
Though Faith must be forsaken, 
O we will follow the Hounds ! 



63 



SONG 

The clouds swung onward, 
The rain went after, 

Thrilled to the distance 
With lyric laughter. 

The winds shook branches 
That were our shelter — 

Shook little rainbows 
Helter-skelter. 

We parted the branches. 

Lo! Earth was new. 
The rainbow called us — 

My heart called you ! 



64 



THE PALACE OF DREAMS 

By the luminous shores of a moon-kissed sea 

Stands a mountain of purple and gold, 
Where dream-winds waft from a starry lea 

And passion blooms unfold. 
And here are the shadows swayed to rest 

By the lullaby sounds of streams, 
And here on the mist-hung mountain crest, 
Facing the gates of the wind-wild west, 

Stands the wonderful Palace of Dreams. 

The palace towers all vast and high 

Are of opal and amethyst ; 
And the arches bend with the arching sky, 

Draped in the silver mist. 
And there in front of the magic door 

Is a terrace of bloom and light ; 
But out on the wave-splashed, rock-walled shore 
Are voices wailing forevermore 

From the deep, dark pits of night. 

In the lucent halls breathes music low, 

And many a fountain flows; 
And feet grown light o'er dream-ways go. 

Strewn with poppy and rose. 
And dream-shapes move in a sensuous dance. 

And amorous eyes grow bright; 
But still, like sounds in a weird witch trance. 
By the moon-pale sea that sobs and pants, 

Are voices in the night, 

65 



" Beware! Beware! " the voices call, 

" The lullaby sounds of streams, 
And the opal and gold of the palace hall, 

The fair, false Palace of Dreams ; ' 
For there we strayed too far, too far. 

From cares on the busy shore ; 
And no ship comes by the harbor bar, 
For our ships lie low where the sea-wrecks are, 

And all our world they bore." 

" The Treasure Isles are far from here 

Where sirens always sing. 
But the winds are free and the skies are clear. 

And a sail is a flitting wing. 
And living and loving are wiser lore 

Than dreams all swift in flight; 
And oft in a cottage along the shore, 
Whispering love forevermore 

Are voices day and night." 



66 



SONG 

O there are mansions glorious, 

Beyond my cottage walls, 
Where dwell the souls victorious, 

And the clear starlight falls. 

The Soul at last its mansion finds. 

The flesh that lingereth 
Sinks into sleep behind the blinds 

In the small House of Death. 

O emptied is the bowl of wine, 
Nor tears nor smiles may start ; 

SnufEed is the Light that used to shine 
In mansions of a Heart! 



67 



GIPSY SONG 

How can wc stay in the town 

Now that the Winter is done? 
Somewhere a willow lets down 
Her flowing hair in the sun. 
Somewhere a Road is turning, 
And Dawn's camp fire is burning — 
And O, my heart is yearning 
To go, my golden one. 

Give me your hand, and run 

Out to the Road that we know. 
Scatter the dew in the sun — 

And our hearts will sing as we go, 
" Somewhere the leaves are making 
A tent that is ours for the taking, 
Somewhere, when stars are waking. 
Our own camp fire shall glow." 

When, on the Steeps of Sleep, 
Our tent of stars shall glow. 
Let us send through stillness deep 
This song to the hearts below, 
" Somewhere a Road is leading 
To something some heart is needing — 
Somewhere a Road is leading — 
If you will only go 1 " 



68 



SONG 

I groped through blooms in the dark 
And a fragrance stirred to me, 

And I knew that I touched a rose 
Although I could not see. 

So for your soul I would grope 
In the dark, if you were dead. 

As I knew the rose I would know 
Your soul, and be comforted. 



69 



NEMESIS 

Ah, will you know me when I come? Behold! 

Do you not see me in the lurking years? 

I have the scales that weigh the burning tears 

That you have caused to flow, and still I hold 

The Scales of Justice, without lust for gold. 

I am the voice the trembling silence hears. 

I am the power even Power fears. 

I make the end of stories never told. 

Ah, will you know me when I come? Beware! 
I may not be as you have dreamed. My form 
Changes with needs of Justice on the Earth. 
I may come as a child with golden hair; 
I may come as a beggar in the storm, 
Or as a leper in the House of Mirth. 



70 



SMILES 

The sweetest smile I ever saw- 
Was on the pale old face 

Of one who lived Life's righteous law 
And drew near unto Grace — 

A smile made eloquent of years 

Since it has been baptised of tears. 

The kindest smile I e'er beheld 

Was on a face that bore 
The mark of years when hopes were felled 

To struggle up once more — 
A smile made beautiful for loss 
After it bore another's Cross. 



71 



CHANTY OF THE WEST WIND 

" Yo ho ! Yo ho ! " the west wind sings 

All merrily and strong, 
And with it goes the flash of wings 
And all the joy of living things 

Like spirits of its song. 
" Yo ho ! Yo ho ! for the hills that know 

How near the stars can be; 
Yo ho ! Yo ho ! for the plains that show 

Their broad breasts bare and free; 
Yo ho ! Yo ho ! for the ships that go 

Across the pulsing sea." 
The west wind sings and my heart sings, too. 
O'er the hills and the plains and the sea to you. 

The hills reply with many a voice 

Of sturdy tree and stream. 
The plains make answer and rejoice 
Through all the minstrels of their choice 

With great tones of a dream. 
The sea sings low, but its voices go 

With gull and spreading sail, 
" Yo ho ! Yo ho ! for the hearts that know 

The thrill of the billow's trail ; 
Yo ho! Yo ho! for the lights that glow 

In the bay beyond the gale." 
The west wind sings and my heart sings, too, 
With the hills and the plains and the sea to you. 



72 



THE ROAD BETWEEN THE WILLOWS 

The road between the willows 

The happy winds sing through, 
With here and there the sunlight 

And glimpses of the blue, 
Is the road that we shall follow 
Down through the stilly hollow. 
With lark and thrush and swallow, 
Where dreams are ever new. 

And I shall take the wild rose 

And twine it in your hair. 
The brooklet's silver mirror 
Will hold your image fair. 
And all the willows, swaying 
To lutes, will see us playing 
In cool, clear waters straying 

Out to the world — somewhere. 

And we shall stay till moonlight 

Through dewy willows gleams. 

And we shall dance with fairies 

That haunt the lyric streams. 

O the willows will be dreaming. 

Through misty silver gleaming. 

When we must go, still seeming 

A part of lovely dreams. 



73 



WHAT OF THE MORNING? 

What of the morning 

And the wind that sings 

Eternal songs of conquest and desire? 

Do you not feel your heart adorning 

Itself in all the living glow of things, 

And feel your blood warm with the sunrise fire? 

Does not your soul feel lifted up on wings, 

Glad as the bird that sings a morning song 

Tender and sweet and strong? 

Now grasses dance to wind-songs on the hill — 

Slender and supple dancers in the sun. 

Does not your heart hear melodies that thrill ? 

Do you not feel quick joys that leap and run. 

Like little wild fauns fleeing, 

Through all the still recesses of your being? 

O, are you not a part of things 

Waking and growing? 

Part of the freedom of the rested wings, 

And streams forever flowing? 

And is your soul less supple than the grass 

To dance the songs of winds that pass? 



74 



What of the morning 

If you cannot be 

A part of it? Will you be scorning 

The natural urge of rivers to the sea? 

Will you see one seek joy, and find but pain, 

And say that all his dreams were dreamed in vain ? 

Will you see one fight till he falls, and say 

That struggle is of no avail today? 

Will you see one burn with a great desire 

And scorn the ashes — since you fear the fire ? 

Will you see one stand fearless in the light, 

And say that he shall tremble in the night ? 

The night will come with stars, 

With whispers through the silence cool with dew, 

With breath of strange blooms on the restful airs, 

Bringing the balm of peace to olden scars. 

To those who lived the given morning through, 

Beyond the selfish pride and small despairs, 

The night will come as natural and right, 

And they shall pass from morning into night 

And back again to morning that shall be 

Eternity. 



75 



























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